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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750419">Tell Me of Her</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanso/pseuds/Nanso'>Nanso</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:07:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750419</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanso/pseuds/Nanso</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tell me of her. So she is not just a tale of woe and pain; of atrocity.  Let her be more. </p><p>If he could only know more of her, he could be more - more than the story of a lost prince come home."<br/> </p><p>A boy thinks of the mother he never knew</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elia Martell &amp; Aegon VI Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Elia Martell Fanworks Week</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tell Me of Her</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the prompt 'family'</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Turning his eyes to the horizon, the straw of his hat catches on his fingers as he tips it off.  It is his favorite part of the day, after all. His view must be pure.  </p><p>The sun sits at just the right place in the sky, having left its high perch to eventually ease itself into the water. </p><p>It is here that the great orb turns the sky into purple and orange. And it spreads silver through the waters that surround them, washing away the blue. </p><p>This is Aegon’s favorite part of the day, especially as they make their way down the Rhoyne towards Volantis. </p><p>And when they sail down the river - <em> this river</em>, he thinks of <em> her</em>. For how can he not?</p><p><em> Mother</em>, he thinks, as her waters carry them forward.</p><p>
  <em> Elia of Dorne.  </em>
</p><p>Sometimes at night, when Jon keeps the night watch and he is alone in their cabin, Aegon whispers her name. </p><p>
  <em> Elia.  </em>
</p><p>It sounds so beautiful to say, even quietly. He could shout her name, but when he says it softly to himself - it is like she is there with him, for him. </p><p>Like a prayer. For that is what his words are.  </p><p>What did she think when she handed him over? Did she kiss his brow as she bid him farewell? Sing to him?</p><p>He had an older sister, he knows. <em> Did my sister call you mother or mama? Or something else?  </em></p><p>It is a curse that he cannot remember, because more than anything - he wants to remember them. </p><p>He wants to remember as badly as he wants Westeros. </p><p>Jon does not speak of his mother near as much as his father.<em> You are the only father I’ve known, </em> he wants to tell him.</p><p><em> Tell me of her</em>. So she is not just a tale of woe and pain; of atrocity. </p><p>
  <em> Let her be more.  </em>
</p><p>Yes, it is <em> her </em> he wants to know of; of her brothers and their children that lay across the sea in Westeros.  Ysilla and Yandry know Dorne, or parts of it at least. But they know his family as much as he does. </p><p>The princes and their children. <em> My cousins. </em></p><p>His kin shall support him, he thinks.</p><p>He hopes...</p><p>But will he be enough for them?  </p><p>
  <em> Do I look like you? What did you leave of yourself in me?  </em>
</p><p>His hair and the color of his eyes speak of his sire and Valyria, he knows. But perhaps the shape of his eyes, his lips - </p><p>
  <em> Will they see you in me? Is that how I may see you? </em>
</p><p>When he meets his family, he wants to know of her. </p><p><em> Tell me of her</em>, he yearns. What did she dream, crave? Was she solemn? What made her laugh?  </p><p>
  <em> Who were you?  </em>
</p><p>Elia of Dorne. </p><p>When the sun shines down and kisses his skin, he likes to pretend that it is her embracing him, casting her light upon him. </p><p>He imagines that this is what it would feel like if she were alive, taking him in her arms. And they would laugh together.  </p><p>At his height now, he thinks he could be taller than her and she would have to rise on her toes to straighten his hair.</p><p>
  <em> Mother. </em>
</p><p>He wants to say the word once and have it be true upon arrival.</p><p>Because he does not know her, of her, he creates an image of her in his mind.  A slender woman with dark flowing hair, spinning in orange and yellow silks, laughing. </p><p>Joyful. </p><p>
  <em>A woman, alive and free.</em>
</p><p>Aegon thinks of her like this so he never has to think about her end. </p><p>They sail by Ny Sar, its pink and green ruins still stretching upwards as the archways of the city come into view. When he looks upon the lost city, he constructs it anew in his mind and imagines the turtles amidst the reeds to be Nymeria’s ships. </p><p>A gust of wind jostles the <em> Shy Maid</em>, waking him from his thoughts. In an instant, the image fades - the city is ruins once more, the woman in orange gone and her laugh spun away into the wind.</p><p>The ruins fill his eyes, but he never forgets what they once were. </p><p>
  <em> I am the blood of old Valyria but I am also the blood of this land, of Nymeria.  </em>
</p><p>Of this water, of the Rhoynar princes that fought against his Valyrian kin. </p><p>His blood is that of people who have fought so many times. </p><p>Did his parents fight?</p><p>
  <em> Is that why father left? What happened? </em>
</p><p>Jon does not speak of that. </p><p>And Aegon does not like to dwell on it either. </p><p>Distantly, he registers that Yandry is telling Yollo of the Mother Rhoyne and her daughters, how she is at her greatest when they meet. It is something Yandry has told Aegon many times - but he does not mind. He loves to hear of a mother and her children.     </p><p><em> The dwarf is of Westeros, </em> he thinks. <em> He always asks me for wine</em>. </p><p>Studying Yollo, he wonders if he knows his family in Dorne or of his father. </p><p>Of her. </p><p>And then before he knows it, a splash awakens him from his thoughts as a giant turtle rises from the water with a deep cry. Pieces of the river cling to its shell, painting it of moss and molluscs as water sprays upwards turning into crystals in the sun’s fading light.</p><p>Ysilla cries that it is a blessing. Duck hollers with enthusiasm and so he joins him for he relishes the sight as well. But even more, he loves the elation it brings to his friends, those that have become his family. </p><p>Looking back, he sees the ruins of Ny Sar once more before training his eyes towards their destination.  And then his gaze shifts to where the sun has left its exquisite spot to allow the moon its time. It begins its nightly dip into the waters of the west - where his focus must be. </p><p>Jon speaks of his sire, the last dragon. And how he will do everything to set the path to its correct course. <em> For the son of his silver prince</em>, he once heard him say to himself. </p><p><em> I cannot be just who you want me to be, need me to be, </em>Aegon thinks. </p><p>If he could only know more of her, he could <em> be </em> more - more than the story of a lost prince come home. </p><p>
  <em> I can be more if you would let me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I could be more than Rhaegar’s son.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I am hers as well, do you not see?   </em>
</p><p>The last piece of the sun slips into the water, taking the colors of the sky with it.</p><p>
  <em> Did you watch the sun set each day as I do? Did you look to the stars after?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Did it bring you joy?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Who were you? </em>
</p><p>Elia of Dorne. </p><p>And the river whispers. </p><p>
  <em> Mother. </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a small rumination on Young Griff/Aegon. Whether or not he is the biological son of Elia and Rhaegar is immaterial to me since he believes that he is. And while I get that grrm is using his character for his own reasons, it's very frustrating that so far, he's made Aegon a slightly one dimensional character. Also this is a bit of my own desire as a reader for Elia to also be more than what grrm has written her as. </p><p>Its ridiculous that when Aegon and Tyrion talk, he never asks if he knows anything about his Dornish family  (though perhaps for the best given Oberyn's fate...) but also ridiculous that we don't even see Tyrion having thoughts about Oberyn in front of his nephew. </p><p>It seems pretty damn reasonable Aegon would want to know his mother's family, her siblings - hear from people that truly knew her. Also he's hangin with two people who lived in Dorne (or so we're told). Surely the boy has been schooled in his heritage. </p><p>In any case, I wish Aegon was given more depth but I doubt that'll happen in TWOW, sigh. I love the motley crew that is the Shy Maid gang and just wish we'd gotten more of all of them as well as a fleshed out Young Griff</p></blockquote></div></div>
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